


If You Were Church, I'd Get on My Knees

by little_miss_anglerfish



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Image, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Possible Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_miss_anglerfish/pseuds/little_miss_anglerfish
Summary: In which Aziraphale frets about whether he's deserving of love, and Crowley has been pining after this moron for so long he's pretty sure he's lost his mind ten times over.





	If You Were Church, I'd Get on My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my very first fic to publish on Ao3 after ages of being just an anonymous reader. I'm really excited to start writing fanfiction again, I haven't done it since middle school and I have so many ideas just festering in my head. I hope you guys enjoy!

Once the crisis with the Antichrist and the Almost-Apocalypse was over, and Heaven and Hell had the good sense to mind their own damn business for once, Aziraphale and Crowley found it much easier to spend longer periods of time together. They had run into each other countless times throughout the centuries, but there were still gaps in between, and many a night was spent recounting some grand tale or another over several glasses of wine. Some of the stories -- primarily Crowley's -- were simply outrageous, but both angel and demon were enjoying themselves so thoroughly that neither wanted to call the other's bluff. Late at night, when they were sitting in Aziraphale's bookshop or holed up in Crowley's flat, it was easy to believe that they were the only two beings in all the universe.

Aziraphale, for the first time in his six thousand years, seemed to let his guard down, just a little, and Crowley wanted so badly to just snog the living daylights out of his angel, because they had _won._ Against cosmic odds, in spite of a friendship condemned by Heaven and Hell, they had done it, they'd saved the world. Together. And as they talked into the wee hours of the morning, Crowley would sometimes just listen to Aziraphale's voice. The intonations and inflections that made his words so wonderful to hear. It was a voice that, for a brief time, he never thought he'd hear again. Some wild side of Crowley wanted Aziraphale all to himself, to hold him close and never let him out of his sight again, but he trusted that Aziraphale could (for the most part) take care of himself. 

So when the time came for one of their nightly get-togethers and Aziraphale was running late, Crowley tried not to worry right away. Maybe the angel had been doing some cataloging at the new bookshop; Lord knew there were plenty of new volumes to sort through. There was a chance he could have just gotten caught up in his work. Thirty minutes passed agonizingly slowly, and yet Aziraphale did not appear. Crowley tried to call the shop, but received no answer. Fear settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He threw on his coat and flew down the stairs to the Bentley. He reduced the parking ticket on the windshield to ash and pulled onto the London streets at breakneck speed. The lights in the bookshop were off, the sign in the window flipped to "Closed". Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. But Crowley knew better than to trust appearances. Cursing under his breath, he swerved the car to park alongside the sidewalk. 

Panic rose in Crowley's chest as he recalled the fire that had left the original bookshop nothing but a pile of rubble. Aziraphale had been alright, simply discorporated, but Crowley couldn't escape the feeling that he'd lost something. What would he have done, if Aziraphale had truly died? Would he still have helped end the Apocalypse, as an act of vengeance? Maybe. Crowley didn't like to linger on what might have been. He had his angel, the Apocalypse didn't happen, and everything was slowly going back to normal. 

_That's part of the problem, though, isn't it?_ he thought, bitterly.  _Things were supposed to change, between us._

Crowley didn't bother to knock. He miracled himself into the empty bookshop and took a moment to assess the space around him. The only other presence he could detect was an angelic one. No demons. No Heavenly hosts come to smite one of their own. Crowley allowed himself to relax slightly.

"Aziraphale?" he called into the semi-darkness. 

There was a small sound, something between a gasp and a whimper. "Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice came from the back room. It sounded slurred, and thick with an emotion Crowley couldn't identify. He felt his chest tighten.

The angel was sitting at his desk, looking utterly deflated and disheveled. His cheeks were rosy, and it was easy to see that he'd been crying. A half-empty bottle of vintage red wine sat in his lap. For a moment, Aziraphale looked confused. "Darling, why are you -- ?" Realization dawned on him, and he made a sad sound in his throat. "Oh, dear, our-our meeting, I completely forgot..." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm so sorry, dear boy, I-I'm..." He hiccuped softly, and sighed. 

Crowley was stunned. They'd gotten drunk before, but it was always together. He'd never seen Aziraphale drink in excess all on his own, but it was more disturbing to see the unshed tears that lingered in the angel's eyes. Slowly, Crowley knelt beside his friend and gently took the bottle from him. "You scared me," he said. "Satan, you scared me half to _death_ , Zira. What the hell brought this on?"

Aziraphale wouldn't meet Crowley's gaze. "I'm sorry for frightening you, dear," he said, guiltily. "I meant to call, but...time sort of..." He glanced at the bottle in Crowley's hand. "Got away from me." 

"Zira." Crowley dared to lay his hand on Aziraphale's arm. He took it as a good sign when the angel didn't pull away. "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't," the angel replied tightly. "I don't -- it's not your burden to bear."

Crowley growled low in his throat. "Like hell it isn't. We're in this together. We're on _our_ side, remember?" 

Aziraphale laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Crowley, we've known each other a long time -- "

_A short eternity, I'd say,_ Crowley thought.

"And after everything we've been through, well...what are we supposed to do now?" 

Crowley frowned. "I don't follow." 

Being drunk certainly didn't make it easier for Aziraphale to make his point. "Our entire lives, we've been... _supervised_ , by our respective superiors, and now - now they've got better things to do, like cleaning up the mess we made of the Apocalypse, so now we're just...free? Was it really that simple?" The more he talked, the more Crowley's frown deepened. Aziraphale huffed, frustrated. "I mean, can we really do whatever we want? What if they're still watching us?"

"You're talking in circles, angel," Crowley said, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. "I don't think it's Heaven or Hell that's got you so worked up." Aziraphale looked so ashamed, and it made Crowley feel sick to see him that way. When he didn't say anything, Crowley offered an explanation. "Is this about us?"

Aziraphale nodded. "May I please have a drink?"

"If I let you have it, will you tell me what's bothering you?"

"Yes." 

Crowley handed over the wine, which Aziraphale took shakily. After a long pull, he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "You deserve better than me."

The demon blinked. Surely he hadn't heard him correctly? "What?"

"You deserve better than me," Aziraphale repeated, forcefully. "It's really not too difficult to understand. I'm not made for life in the fast lane, I'm - I'm made to stay in with my books and make tea." He looked glumly at the soft curve of his belly. "After all this time, I thought you would've realized that by now, that we aren't _suited_ for each other." 

A spark of anger ran through Crowley like lightning. "Are you really so stupid?" Aziraphale looked up, surprised by his tone. "You really think -- this is about your _weight?"_

"Well I don't exactly fit the mold of the once-Guardian of East Eden, now do I?" Aziraphale said, defensively. "I'm not a soldier anymore, and it shows. I just didn't realize it until Gabriel -- "

" _Gabriel?"_ Crowley spat. "Who gives a flying fuck what that twat has to say?"

"Just because he's not on our side doesn't mean his words don't hurt!" Aziraphale's face pinched, and a few more tears fell down his cheeks. "Sometimes it creeps up on me, this doubt, this self-loathing, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and - and - " A harsh sob escaped his chest. "For six thousand years, I've been in awe of you. Your endless charm, your perfect form. I couldn't fathom why you stuck around all that time. Sometimes I just don't feel worthy."

"You feel unworthy of _me?"_ Crowley felt like he'd been slapped. "You are an angel. A Heavenly Host. You once sat by the throne of God themself!"

"But not anymore," said Aziraphale. "I went soft a long time ago, and now I am just completely exhausted. They always warned me that there would be temptations on Earth, but did I listen? Obviously not."

Crowley couldn't believe his ears. _How can I convince you that you are the most radiant, beautiful being I've ever met?_ "Oh, angel." Crowley's hand wandered up to hold Aziraphale's face.

"I've been holding on to this for far too long." Aziraphale gently took hold of Crowley's wrist. "Dear boy, I can't take it anymore." Hesitantly, the angel placed a delicate kiss on Crowley's palm. 

"Neither can I," Crowley whispered. He leaned in, pausing to see if Aziraphale would pull back, but he didn't. When their lips met, it felt as if a spark of electricity passed between them. Crowley could taste the wine on Aziraphale's tongue. The angel groaned slightly, wrapping his arms around Crowley's neck. Crowley placed his hands at Aziraphale's sides, reveling in the warmth and softness he found there. "You're beautiful, angel. I can't even remember how long I've loved you." He pressed kisses along Aziraphale's neck, making the angel shudder. "Maybe since the beginning of time." The demon's hands roamed all over, gently squeezing plump thighs and sinking into the flesh of Aziraphale's belly. "And I never once felt worthy of you, but I was selfish and I wanted you anyway. You're always so warm, and I would do anything to make you happy." He pulled back to look into Aziraphale's eyes. "I love you, angel. Have for millennia."

Aziraphale's face was flushed, but his eyes sparkled anew. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh, Crowley. I had no idea...I mean, I had hoped, but...I didn't know how much, if at all..." He tangled his fingers in Crowley's short red hair. "I love you too, dear. So much that I feared I may burst if I never had the chance to tell you."

The bottle of wine long forgotten, it seemed that this evening, a demon and his angel would be catching up in a much different way that usual.

 

 

 

 


End file.
